Page 106 of The Truth About Dukes
“Uncle said we must talk with you and His Grace too.” This occasioned a shy peek at Rothhaven, who was trying to look harmless and not quite succeeding. He had thatlistening intently, adding up every word, and coming to fourteen accurate conclusionslook about him.
“Reverend Shaw is a wise man,” Constance said. “Might we continue this discussion over tea cakes and shortbread? I’d also like you to try some of our pear torte. My sister’s chef refuses to part with the recipe, so we all try to stay in his good books.”
That observation had Mrs. Hodges smiling at the reverend, for some reason, and he held her chair for her. Rothhaven seated Constance, then held a chair for Ivy—who blushed the roaring pink of an embarrassed redhead.
Constance managed the tea tray with Rothhaven’s assistance, but the ordeal was nerve-racking. She wanted to grab Reverend Shaw by the lapels and demand to know why he was paying this call, and she wanted to simply stare at her lovely, precious, blushing daughter.
“Elizabeth and I,” Shaw began, clearing his throat, “Mrs. Hodges and I, rather, have discussed Ivy’s situation at some length, and I do value Elizabeth—Mrs. Hodges’s—insights keenly. I read your letter, Duchess, the one in which you admonished Ivy not to embark on a path of dangerous folly. I could have told the girl the same thing fifty times over, complete with citations from Proverbs—I doubtless have, in fact—and she doesn’t listen to me. Shelistenedto you.”
“My duchess,” Rothhaven observed, “has a way of getting to the heart of matters. I ignore her at my peril.”
“Mrs. Hodges has the same effect on me, sir. In any case, Ivy doesn’t want to go to Australia, and I have come upon a reason to delay my own departure indefinitely.”
“Have you?” Constance asked, as the ache in her chest acquired a quality of yearning. “You’ve found a reason to remain in England?”
“Mrs. Hodges has long held my esteem, and I am delighted to learn that my respect for her is reciprocated. I have reason to hope that a courtship will end happily for both of us, though Mrs. Hodges has admonished me that we have much to discuss before that happy day.”
“They are sweet on each other,” Ivy said. “I have to sing as I move about the house, lest I come upon them engaged in shocking familiarities.”
“Ivy, hush,” Mrs. Hodges said, smiling, “or I will tell your mother about the time I caught you waltzing about the upper hall in your nightgown.”
“Perhaps another time,” Constance said. “For the present, I am pleased to hear that Ivy might be in England a while longer.” Heartbreakingly pleased. I will tellyour mother.…
Reverend Shaw set down his teacup. “As long as I’m to bide in England for the foreseeable future, and as long as Ivy is desperate to see you, I thought perhaps…”
“Yes?” Constance didn’t recall reaching for Rothhaven’s hand, but his grip on her fingers was snug.
“I want to visit here,” Ivy said, “if it’s not too much trouble. Uncle thinks opening a girls’ school might be God’s plan for him, or Mrs. Hodges’s plan for him. He says other girls haven’t mothers as sensible as my mothers have been, and those girls need guidance and moral examples if they aren’t to make featherbrained decisions.”
Rothhaven topped up the reverend’s teacup. “It’s been my admittedly limited experience that people who have not used up all their patience raising their own children are often marvelously understanding and tolerant of other people’s children. Don’t you agree, Reverend?”
“Mrs. Hodges has observed that very same thing, Your Grace, and witness her kindness toward Ivy. She is also of the opinion that funds available to me for the Lord’s work in Australia might go twice as far here in England if devoted to a girls’ school. The north hasn’t many, and thus our girls must travel all the way to the Midlands or farther.”
Rothhaven—who had provided the funds under discussion—made encouraging noises, served up pear torte, and generally acted as a competent host while Constance knew a joy too magnificent for tears.
Ivy was not to go away, she wanted to visit at the Hall, and nothing, nothing on earth, could be better news than that.
A tap on the door suggested the kitchen had sensed when more torte was needed, but the maid Harris again announced guests.
“Their Graces of Walden,” she said. “Her Grace forgot her gloves.”
Well, no. Jane had doubtless spotted Reverend Shaw’s coach drawing around to the carriage house, and promptly decided to investigate, towing Quinn, Althea, and Nathaniel with her.
Rothhaven made the introductions, presenting Mrs. Hodges and the reverend to Jane, Quinn, Althea, and Nathaniel in turn. Through the endless bowing and curtsying, Ivy sidled closer and closer to Constance’s side.
“And this,” Rothhaven said, turning to Ivy, “is our dear Ivy. She has expressed a desire to visit at the Hall, and we are negotiating that happy prospect with her uncle. Should we perhaps move into the garden on such a fine day?”
The familial herd decamped to the walled garden, which was approaching its peak glory. Constance found Ivy walking on her left, Rothhaven on her right, and, without asking permission, she joined hands with them both.
“I am so happy at this moment, I am at risk for bursting into song.”
“Please don’t, Mama Constance—I meanYour Grace—or Uncle will suggest we sing hymns, and his braying is the epitome of a joyful noise.”
“I like the other better,” Constance said, daring to loop an arm around Ivy’s shoulders.
“Mama Constance?”
“Yes, that. I like it very well indeed.” She gave in to temptation and hugged Ivy, a quick squeeze that the girl tolerated good-naturedly.
